


End of an Era, Beginning of an End

by TheMulletWhisperer



Category: Fallout (Video Games), Fallout: New Vegas
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Caesar's Legion, Combat, Depressing, Depression, Drug Use, Eventual Smut, F/M, Happy Ending, Multi, NCR | New California Republic, Oral Sex, References to Fallout 1 and 2, Rough Oral Sex, Slavery, Sort Of, Torture, Violent Sex, evil courier
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-03-27
Updated: 2019-03-14
Packaged: 2019-04-08 17:11:18
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 6
Words: 7,834
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14110128
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/TheMulletWhisperer/pseuds/TheMulletWhisperer
Summary: An ill fated, desperate grab for victory by a defeated NCR leaves Ranger Elizabeth "Liza" Lee stranded in Legion territory. Captured by the Legion, she fights despair as her will is put to the test.





	1. Beachhead

**Author's Note:**

> Look who's starting another project he'll probably never fucking finish! (It's me.)
> 
> Thanks to @ViciousKitten for inspiring this with her excellent "Light in the Darkness" fic
> 
> This one is going to be way darker.

“Go, go, go!” Liza shouted over the gunfire and deafening impacts of the Howitzers. Just barely, a shell that would’ve spelled doom for the Rangers sunk into the water as the LCVP beached, the ramp falling away and embedding itself in the sand. “Don’t give them an inch!” She spurred her squad on--even as Legion emplacements mowed down the vanguard. For the first time since the battle had begun, the soldiers got a firsthand look at the hellscape before them. Blood stained the sand, a carpet of bodies buffered the NCR forces from the beach, and artillery shells sent  helpless conscripts flying into the air, mutilated beyond recognition within seconds. Nonetheless, they pushed forward, inspired by the presence of the newly-arrived Rangers. Although the bullets pierced their coats and felled their comrades, they pushed further toward the beach. Veterans and Conscripts alike charged the Fort under the hail of white-hot lead ripping through the flesh of their friends and allies. 

 

Mustering her strength and pushing all the doubt out of her mind, Liza pushed to her feet from behind the wheel of the boat, slinging her service rifle off of her back and unleashing a burst of fire in the direction of the MG emplacements. Although the bullets didn’t hit, they bought her precious time to find cover behind one of the Czech Hedgehogs, the retaliation from the gunner she’d shot at pinging harmlessly off of the H-shaped steel barriers. Pausing for a moment, she took stock of the status of the rest of the troops. Although the simultaneous sounds of battle from the Dam and the beach took her mind in many different directions, she focused in on the miasma of death in front of her. As she’d feared, the battle looked grim. Despite having captured a beachhead, reinforcements were barely making it off the boats before being scattered by artillery and picked off by snipers. 

 

Snatching the radio from her bandolier, the Lieutenant lifted her helmet’s face, depressing the transmitter and shouting into the receiver, “This is Lieutenant Lee, 32nd NCR Raider Regiment, requesting reinforcements at the Fort!” She clicked the transmitter off and held the radio up to her ear, praying to every god she knew that command would give the go-ahead. Instead… nothing. Static buzzed in her ear for several seconds before she gave up trying, switching the channel over and once again bringing the receiver to her face. “Lieutenant Lee to all NCR Raider forces, this is a losing fight, retreat and reinforce defenses at the Dam!” As she prepared to pull back to her vehicle, a voice crackled over the radio.

 

“Lieutenant, this is our last chance, the Dam has fallen, repeat, the Dam has fallen. All forces, belay the retreat, take the Fort whatever the cost!” The information and subsequent orders caught Liza off-guard. Bewildered, she did only what came naturally and rounded the corner of the Hedgehog, making for the next piece of cover on the beach, as did many of the other Veterans. 

 

The moment she knew she’d been shot and the moment the bullet connected were far apart as she felt a warm patch spreading across her stomach. A glance down showed her the moment another bullet connected with her gut, adding the blood that was already running down her legs. For a moment, her brain refused to register the injury until a third buried itself in her shoulder, sending her to the ground and staining the sand. As she faded into unconsciousness, she watched her soldiers try to reach her, only to meet her same fate.

  
  


* * *

  
  


Liza couldn’t tell how long it had been since she’d collapsed, but she knew that she hadn’t been moved from the beach. By now, all the sounds of battle, distant and near, had faded to a stop, the sun that shone through the yellow film of clouds mirroring the somber moment. Somewhere around her, things were moving through the sand, footsteps. Mustering all of her strength, she rolled onto her stomach, lifting her head to survey the scene. Several Legionnaires milled about the battlefield, executing Rangers and soldiers that they saw moving. Despite knowing she shouldn’t, what instinct remained told her to crawl for her freedom, to try and make it back to the boats. If she could do that, she could be free.

 

“Decimus! Another live one!” A voice called from the death squads that flanked her, the purposeful footsteps growing closer by the second. She knew there wasn’t any way to escape, yet she kept crawling, trying her hardest to defy the odds. 

 

The boot that fell on her back dashed all her hopes, agitating her wounds and drawing a weak cry from her--all that she could manage. “Shall we crucify this one, or take his head?” One of the voices asked, presumably Decimus’. 

 

“No.” The other Legionnaire spoke, rolling Liza over onto her back. The sun framed him, but whatever distinguishing marks he might have had were cloaked by the bulky armor of the Legion. He pointed to her face with his Gladius, “Female.” He spoke matter-of-factly as Decimus appeared over his shoulder to peer at her face. 

 

“And quite an attractive one as well. Maybe I will take her as mine.” He circled his comrade, crouching down next to her and getting a closer look at her face, his breath rancid through his makeshift bandana mask. “Very nice…” He looked her over, but was interrupted by the other Legionnaire, who grabbed both of her feet and began dragging her toward the Fort. “Where are you going?!”

 

“Caesar will decide the Profligate’s fate.” Liza only somewhat registered what was said as she once again slipped into unconsciousness, thinking it better to be asleep than to endure whatever was to come next.


	2. Nevada Sun

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yay for dark shit

Elizabeth blinked her eyes open, slowly regaining consciousness. The pain in her gut was worse than when she’d been shot, but the blood was no longer spreading across her body, the warm, wet sensation replaced by the coarse itch of crude bandages. It seemed whoever had provided the aid had given her the wrong set of clothing by mistake, as she now wore a burlap tunic and skirt, held together by rope and prayer. Of course, judging by the scratch of the ropes against her wrists and the gravel digging its way into her knees, she wasn’t exactly a guest here.

 

Struggling, she raised her head to survey her surroundings as the ringing in her ears gave way to the sound of a celebration, cheering and laughter. Her eyes tracked over her surroundings, across the sea of Legionnaires drinking, dancing and eating. A few unlucky souls had been singled out by the celebrants, their hands lashed behind their backs as they were bent over the tables and ravaged by the soldiers in front of their comrades, the women struggling all the while.

 

Liza pulled at the ropes that bound her hands above her head in a supremely uncomfortable way. Others of her team were bound alongside her, the men lashed to crosses and the women bound beneath their feet as the Legion continued their revelry. 

 

The Lieutenant’s struggle caught the eye of a stoic-looking soldier standing away from the celebrations, a rough-faced man with a thick beard and a scar over a milky-white eye. Although he didn’t wear the uniform, the Bull emblazoned on his vault suit told all she needed to know. On his cropped length of deep brown hair was perched a beret, that of the NCR First Recon, but the patch had been altered to display the colors of the Legion. 

 

The man approached her, his many rifles and pistols clattering against one another, and the dull light reflected from the blood on his machete gleaming menacingly. Silently, he dropped to one knee in front of her, staring into the deep blue eyes that stared back with considerable amounts of anger. 

 

Several seconds of silence passed before the man reached out to touch her face, which she turned quickly away from him. “Fuck off, Legion.” She spat in his direction--a gesture he did not take kindly. He lashed out with a lightning speed, grabbing the side of her face and forcing her to look into his good eye.

 

“Look to me when you’re addressed. Your name.” He demanded, his thick, gravelly cockney accent grating against her ears. Defiantly, she remained quiet, staring him down with pure vitriol. Once again, he was unamused, gripping her face tight enough to bruise with one hand, while reaching up with the other to pry her jaw apart and slip three gloved fingers into her mouth. Whatever uncertainty as to what he was doing that Liza held disappeared when he jerked his hand down, sending spears of pain through the sides of her head. “One more time, profligate. Your name. Tell me your name or I’ll tear off your jaw and let you drown in your own blood.”

 

That threat threw her off, the intent behind his voice all too real. Her sharp-featured, pale face broke its stony, determined expression into one of outright fear. She tried to speak, but he refused to move his fingers. Simply smiling cruelly. “Fear. Good. You’ll make a good whore for my brothers.” He pulled his fingers out, wiping them on her tunic and standing up. “Remain and bake here, degenerate. You will meet your fate soon enough.” The man turned and strode away, toward the main encampment.

 

Sent reeling from the encounter, Liza cast her gaze to the ground, away from what was happening in front of her. The shame of the fear she’d expressed and the anger at the treatment of her comrades overwhelming her. Try as she might, she couldn’t drown out the sounds of the Fort with her thoughts, so she simply sat there, sweating profusely in the Nevada heat as she slid her eyes closed again, exhaustion washing over her as her body begged her for sleep.

 

* * *

  
  
  


It wasn’t clear how much time had passed since she’d passed out, but what awoke her was most unexpected. A prodding at her lips pulled her from her slumber. Moving her head away, she straightened up and stared right into the head of the member in front of her. Unsure of what exactly was happening and exactly how much she was dreaming, the Lieutenant looked up to lock eyes with a Legionnaire, penis in his hand and pointed right at her mouth. “Now.” He commanded, taking a step forward  to further corner her. 

 

Unwilling to comply with his request, she simply stared at him, spitting onto the ground as if she were daring him to do something. Although it seemed he was about to take that challenge, the crack of a rifle interrupted him, the bullet sailing true and embedding itself in his arm. The soldier had little time to react before a second round pierced his throat, sending him crumpling to the ground.

 

Liza snapped her head to the source of the sound. That same man who’d threatened her earlier stood across the trench, a worn bush rifle in his hands. He re-chambered his rifle and shouldered it, circling the trench and approaching the battered NCR soldier. “Fucking horny kids.” He spat on the corpse of the soldier he’d killed, approaching Liza and drawing his gladius--a terrifying sight from a man as evidently violent as he. “Don’t get any ideas, degenerate. He disobeyed my orders to leave the unjudged alone. I’m not going to save you next time someone wants to stick their cock in you.” The man cut the ropes binding her hands, grabbing her by the back of the neck and pulling her roughly to her feet. “Caesar awaits, profligate.”

 

For the first time, Elizabeth realized how thirsty she was, left in the sun for as long as she had been. Nonetheless, she continued her obstinate refusal to show weakness as she followed the guiding hand of the sadist behind her, his rough and calloused hand gripping her neck like a vice. “Caesar can suck my dick.” She muttered as they ascended the hill.

 

This proved a mistake.

 

Not a second after the last syllable had passed her lips, her captor threw her forcefully to the ground, the suddenness catching her off guard. She bashed her face on the wooden stairs, a sickly  _ crack _ and the subsequent pain travelling from her nose across her face. That wasn’t the end, though, as her ribs were impacted by a thick leather boot several times before it took to stomping on her back, ,pushing the air out of her and leaving several gashes across her body. The assault didn’t stop until she lay prostrate on the ground, silent tears of pain and fear running down her cheeks as she struggled for the will to stand up, to not simply lay there and cease to exist.

 

That had grabbed her by the scruff of her shirt, flipping her over and pulling her up. “Speak not ill of the mighty Caesar or by Mars I will stop your brains into a fine paste, degenerate whore!” The formerly-composed man screamed in her face, showering it with spittle. Truthfully, she only half listened to his tirade and threats, as she tried to repress the insult that might mercifully take her away from the pain. 

 

Ultimately, she remained quiet. Though her legs didn’t seem to work, the man didn’t seem perturbed, simply dragging her up the steps by her bruised and bloodied arm. It was all she could do to keep her face from being shredded on the jagged gravel as she allowed herself to be manhandled.

 

“I’ll see you flogged for this.” He spoke up again as the reached the gate, his fist banging insistently on the gate. “Just you wait, whore."


	3. Judgement

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow can you believe it, it's been like an entire motherchristing year since I updated this. I've run out of excuses so I'll just apologize.
> 
> This story might be switching gears a bit as I've settled down with the rampant smut I used to write. Don't get me wrong, there will still be smut, just not as much as I intended there to be int he first place. 
> 
> Just to reiterate, this shit is still very much dark.

Though she struggled against his firm hand, the rough grip dug into her wrist. As she was tossed through the gate she finally resolved to stop struggling as he grabbed her by the rope around her waist, effortlessly hoisting her and carrying her like a tote bag through the camp. Luckily for her, the soldiers seemed more focused on revering the very existence of the one-eyed man to jeer at her. Just what bear had she poked?

The scorching Nevada sun was soon replaced by the cold shadow of the Caesar’s tent, followed soon by the unforgiving scraping of sandstone on her knees and palms. Although she tried to position herself upright, a hand grabbed her by the hair and pulled her up to her knees, forcing her to meet the eyes of the one who’d defeated the mighty NCR. 

“So, this is the Ranger, huh?” Caesar lounged back in his seat, tilting his chin upwards and examining her. “Not much, are you?” He stooed, circling the two of them. The tent had gone deathly silent, even the once-violent hand that held her had stilled in the face of this figure. “I guess you fucked your way up the chain.” 

Liza, unable to hold her tongue, spit at his feet as he came to rest in front of her. “And  _ I  _ guess you defeated your enemies by blinding them with that fucking head of yours.” She seemed proud of herself, smiling through the caked-on blood, but prepared still for a strike. 

Instead, she was met with a laugh. 

“Good one, profligate. I won’t kick your face in. This time.” He crouched down in front of her, tilting his head in an almost curious manner. “Your life is about to turn into a fucking living hell. I don’t know what you’ve fought, Ranger, but there’s no shooting your way out of this one.” He looked back to Lucius, who stood dutifully at the side of the throne. “Lucky for you my officers need wives for their homes in Vegas. Lucius will take you and do whatever he wants with you. Understand me, profligate?”

Liza’s fear and anger grappled with her desire to continue pushing her luck. Eventually, the latter won out. 

“Will I be expected to bathe him too?” She paused to ensure she would cut him off before he spoke. “Oh, wait, nevermind. Going by your smell you threw that out with the rest of the technology, like toothbrushes and toilets.” Her smile—for a fraction of a second—was smug, before the underside of Caesar’s boot struck her directly in the face, sending her recoiling. The only thing that kept her upright was the insistent hand of the man who’d been beating her in much the same way for the past hour. 

“Just for that, we’ll let Six come visit you whenever he wants.” Caesar smiled cruelly at the confusion evident of Liza’s face. “He prefers cutting to fucking.” He stood up as realization dawned on the Ranger, speaking inaudibly to the infamous Courier Six before returning to his throne. “Six, take her to Lucius’s tent, if you’d please.” 

The Courier grabbed her by the collar, forcing her to her feet. “Gladly.” With that one word Liza’s blood ran cold as she was escorted out of the tent and back into the blazing sun that dueled with the rising heat of panic in her face. 

Courier Six, Bane of the Bear and sickest motherfucker they’d ever come across. He’d been responsible for the most heinous attacks carried out by the Legion during the war. Crucifixions, torture, stake burnings, all of them were fair game to him. Bodies he’d left behind were invariably mutilated and defaced beyond recognition. 

And now she was stuck with him at his worst. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This one was shorter because I've got numerous chapters of numerous things to crank out right now. Hopefully once that calms down I can write something longer. New years resolutions and all that.


	4. The Bull

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> WARNING: This one's kinda fucked up. No rape in it, but there is torture. Torture stops after the line break.

The panic had finally reached critical mass as the Courier shoved Elizabeth into the tent, fearful tears cutting through the dirt and blood on her face. She reprimanded herself for crying, somewhere in the back of her mind, but she hoped irrationally that appearing weak would somehow save her the agony that was coming.

Rangers and soldiers alike feared the man who now stood above her. Sinclair Douglass was his real name, but most of the troops had taken to calling him “Courier” after his former profession. Initially he’d assisted the NCR by crushing the Powder Gangers in the NCRCF and Primm, but when he’d wiped out Forlorn Hope on his own, his standing became ever clear.

Since he stepped onto the battlefield in Legion colors, desertion reached an all time high as word of his cruelties spread throughout the camps and bases, and some of them had even found their way to the ear of Mr. New Vegas himself. Liza had once thought she’d blow his head off during the battle for the Dam, but now, it seemed, reality had taken a very different turn.

She struggled to her knees and rolled over onto her back, weakened severely by the punishment she’d taken, as well as the dehydration and hunger. Across the tent, her captor was prepping a large fire in the wood stove, and she balked to think of what use he might find for it.

“Please, you don’t have to do this.” She spoke, her voice shaking uncontrollably in fear. “I’ll go back and apologize, I’ll grovel, I’ll do anything, please.” Her pretense of defiance was gone in the face of the promise of experiencing what those soldiers she’d pulled off the crosses had, without the subsequent promise of death to allieve the pain.

A moment of silence passed as the man turned to look at her, before he chuckled darkly and shook his head. “I take it you know who I am, then.” A smirk spread on his face, warping the scar over his eye. He stood, brushing the dirt from the kneepads of his vault suit—though it was already soiled beyond saving.

Elizabeth nodded, trying to still the shivers that ran throughout her body at his gaze. “I… I cleaned up after you.” She felt a prick of shame at referring to her dead comrades in such a way, but it would likely only make him angrier.

“Well, I guess that explains your fear, _Ranger_.” He emphasized the last word in a mocking tone, crossing his arms and towering over her as she lay on the ground, unable to will her legs to move. “Don’t you worry, I’m sure the Praetor doesn’t want his new toy missing any of her important bits.” He crouched down to her level, dashing any of the hope that his statement might’ve given her with his next words: “But I’ll make you feel pain you’ve never felt in your life.”

Liza’s blood ran cold and the tears came only stronger as she tried to back away. “No no no, please, you d—” Her begging was cut off as he grabbed her by the leg and pulled her toward the fire, rolling her over onto her stomach and ripping a large hole in the back of her dress. In response to her continued escape attempts, he produced a serrated knife from its place on his calf and drove it directly between the bones of her forearm, pinning her arm into the soft ground.

Elizabeth cried out, clenching her teeth hard enough to hurt and balling her uninjured fist up. “Fuck!” Her breathing began to speed up as warm blood spread across her arm and spilled over onto the ground.

“Hold still, bitch.” The Courier growled and pressed his knee to her back as he pulled something from the fire that she couldn’t see. The pain that came after, however, left her with a good idea of what exactly it was.

A searing, unbearable pain began on her shoulder blade, the hiss of heated metal against her flesh ringing in her ears as her back began to sizzle. Unable to stop it, a scream tore from her throat, likely audible throughout the camp as the pain continued across her back in some pattern she could barely discern through the pain. She could hear herself screaming, pleading for him to stop, but it seemed almost otherworldly as the agony overwhelmed her senses.

There came several times she nearly blacked out, but the pain in her arm unfailingly woke her back up. Eventually, after what felt like hours, the pain ceased and left behind a radiating burn across her entire back. The blood intermingled with the sand around her and she felt her vision blurring.

From somewhere behind her, she could make out the sound of two men speaking, before the knife was torn unceremoniously from her arm and a pair of hands grabbed her by the ankles and began dragging her out of the tent. Although she attempted to say something, her words came out only as pained groans.

Across the camp she was dragged, the gravel and sand scraping open old scars as she trailed blood across the ground. Finally, the mysterious set of hands dropped her in the shade and she made out the sound of his voice for the first time—far more even and calm than the Courier’s. “Patch her up and send her back to me.” His words were simple, but they were all she need to indentify him. The man who’d saved her was doubtless the man she’d been assigned—Lucius, though for what reason he’d pulled her out she didn’t know and, at the moment, didn’t care.

Four hands lifted her and placed her on a far softer surface than the ground and began working on her back. Although the pain came back in force as the wound was irritated, she had far too little strength to protest, simply lying on the mat, whimpering softly every few seconds to reassure herself that she was, indeed, still alive.

The Courier had not been lying. Through her entire experience as a ranger and before, being shot, maimed, and mangled, what he’d done had been the most painful thing she’d experienced in her life, and she was far from keen to repeat it. The hatred for her captors doubled in her heart but she knew that defiance would only find her hanging from a cross or lashed in the camp’s center for any passing soldier to use.

Several minutes passed before the healer shook her shoulder. “Hey, can you hear me?” Her voice was soft and timid, nearly a whisper that Liza could barely make out through the pounding in her head. Nevertheless, she turned her head to the side and stared at the woman out of the corner of her eye.

“Yes.” She rasped, quieter than the healer had been. The weakness in her own voice surprised her, even after all she’d gone through that day. “What did he do?”

The woman glanced to the floor. “He carved the Legion’s bull on your back with a heated knife. It won’t get infected, but it’ll hurt for a while.” Her eyes carried sorrow, but she didn’t voice it, instead helping Liza to roll over and sit upright. The bending of her back sent a dagger of pain down her spine, but it was far less severe than what she’d just experienced. “We need to get you cleaned up and find a change of robes.”

Elizabeth could only nod weakly as she was helped to her feet and toward one of the chairs.

* * *

 

By the time they’d finished in the medical tent, night had nearly fallen and crickets were chirping from somewhere behind the scrap walls of the Fort. In the main camp, soldiers were sparring or using one of the many slaves, those who were absent either in their tents or in the mess hall.

Siri, the woman who’d healed her, guided Liza through the camps and the tents amid a wave of jeering and lewd gestures, Legionnaries speaking things about the NCR that would have made her blood boil were she not so weak.

As the light finally disappeared they arrived at the tent of Lucius, her new ‘husband’, as she’d been told. According to Siri, he was the best of the officers to be paired with, but in no way good, though nothing else useful had come out of that conversation.

Without thinking, Elizabeth stumbled through the flaps of the tent, surveyind the inside for the first time. Her blood on the floor was beginning to dry, and the wood stove’s fire had burned to embers. On the bed sat an older man—no more than 35 by her estimate—wearing the trademark tunic and pteruges of the Legion, but without the football pads-turned-armor. He looked up to the new arrival with a stoic look in his eye, standing to greet her. “Slave. I take it you have been properly healed?”

Elizabeth nodded weakly, casting her eyes to the floor. “Yes, I have.”

Lucius shook his head, sitting down at his desk and resting his ankle on his knee. “Yes, _master_.” He corrected, his voice level. “Or sir. Address me with respect, slave, this is not the profligate army any longer.”

Liza swallowed the half-formulated insult her brain had begun forming and nodded once again, “I’m sorry, sir.” She wavered on the spot, her legs close to giving way. Her throat had begun to feel like sandpaper, shredded from the screaming and dry from the heat.

The legionnaire seemed satisfied and gestured to a small box pressed up against the foot of the bed. “There is pure water in there, you may drink.” He watched her as she stumbled over to the box without another word, nearly breaking the lid in her pursuit of the water inside, shortly before she began gulping down a large bottle. “I will forgive your insolence this once. Your bedroll is in the corner, perhaps if you behave you will earn the privelage of sleeping in my bed alongside me.” He turned to his desk as she dropped the empty bottle and began catching her breath, standing up again with a slightly renewed strength. “You will rest, and in the morning I will instruct you on your duties.”

Without argument, she began toward the mat. “Yes, sir.” She paused for a moment, a thought coming to her. Despite herself, she spoke again, “Thank you, master.” Her voice was weaker as she spoke those words, but she saw the satisfaction on his face as she said them. The words curdled her stomach to speak, but to keep herself from another punishment, she was already prepared to do whatever she had to. Mostly.

As she approached the bedroll, she collapsed to her knees and fell face-first against the pillow, barely managing to shift her body on top of the mat before exhaustion overtook her and she fell asleep.


	5. Meeting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Lucius might seem really boring in this one but that's intentional. Don't worry, he'll become a better character later on.
> 
> As you'll probably see in this chapter, Lucius is the least awful, but he's still pretty awful.
> 
> Also, this chapter contains some very rapey elements, and the next will feature it heavily. Reader beware and all that!

Elizabeth awoke to the sound of shouting and the clanging of blades against one another. Were there gunfire, she might’ve thought the NCR had come to rescue her, but the shouting of the combat instructor dashed that hope. She rubbed her eyes and sat upright, wincing at the pain in her back. 

Blinking the sleep away from her eyes, she surveyed the tent for her new ‘master’, however she found nobody. No matter how much she hated the older man, he seemed far more reasonable than the other Legionnaires she’d met so far. At the thought of her encounter the previous day, she cringed. 

Liza’s thoughts were interrupted by the rustling of the tent’s canvas flap, however, the man she expected to see was absent, and instead she found herself facing the slave woman who’d patched her up the night before. The two locked eyes for a moment before Siri spoke up, “Your husband wishes to see you in Caesar’s tent.” 

Elizabeth nodded silently and tried to stand, but found the pain kept her from moving her back enough to find her feet. Graciously, Siri came to her side to help her up, a helpless sympathy behind her eyes. Liza gave her a sad but reassuring smile, letting go of the hand that had helped her up and leaving the tent behind, cradling her wounded arm. 

The walk to Caesar’s tent was short, but she found no shortage of verbal abuse hurled by the line of soldiers. 

“Rangers lead the way to surrender!” Shouted one of the many officers from the line, sending a spike of hatred direct through her heart. She’d find some way to avenge that, but now was neither the time nor place.

In silence, and with a bowed head, she trudged up the slope to the raised tent, a strong hand on her chest stopping her in her tracks. “The Caesar is not seeing slaves, return to your duty now.” 

Liza fell silent for a moment, her mind blanking before she spoke, “My… um…” She shifted uncomfortably, twisting her mouth into a frown. “Husband wishes to see me. Lucius.” 

The man paused for a moment before he nodded. “Very well, enter.” He turned his attention back to the slope, watching for any interlopers. 

Elizabeth pushed through the flap, catching for the first time a view of the inside of Caesar’s tent. It was far larger than the others she’d seen, with an open courtyard in the center that housed the throne of the so-called ‘Son of Mars’. Surrounding him were his three advisors—Sinclar, Lucius, and another who’s name and face she didn’t know. She stepped into the courtyard but took a sharp right, stopping in front of one of the braziers and clasping her hands in front of her as she waited for the meeting to conclude. If there were anything that would agitate them into another beating, it would be interrupting.

From her place, she could pick up a small snippet of their conversation. 

“The bastards reorganized fast and stopped us partway along the ‘15. Our men are entrenched there and we’ve got no idea why they’re fighting so hard now.” Sinclar spoke quietly, but the unique cadence of his voice made it stand out among the others. 

“I will send my Frumentarii to their government with your permission, my lord.” The unidentified man spoke in a chillingly even voice.

Caesar turned his attention toward her, waving away his advisors, “Not now, we’ve got a visitor.” He leaned forward and beckoned to Liza, “Come here.” His voice was stern and she caught the slightly worried look Lucius gave him. 

She shifted nervously before she obeyed his order, stepping forward and meeting eyes with the tyrant. “Yes, my lord?” She parroted the even-toned man’s platitudes, hoping it would earn her some sort of favor with the monster she spoke with. 

Indeed, he seemed pleased, reclining in his throne and throwing his head back to look at Lucius, “You’re training her well, or was that Six?” He turned his head to look at Sinclair, waving off the rhetorical question and turning his attention back to the Ranger. “So, tell me, why the fuck are you in my tent, and why the fuck did my guard let you in?”

She furrowed her brow, glancing to Lucius for a moment before looking back to Caesar, “My... “ Once again she found herself pausing in the middle of her sentence, sickened by the thought of the next word that would come out of her mouth, “ _ husband  _ requested my presence.” 

Caesar looked once again to Lucius, evidently unimpressed. “Without my permission, Lucius? You know damn well that no slaves are allowed in here without my word.”

The Praetor seemed ashamed, casting his eyes to the ground. “My apologies, lord Caesar. I had thought to be out of the meeting by the time she would arrive. Her injuries are great, I believed her to move slower.”   
  
As he spoke she winced, the pain in her arm and back came once again to the forefront of her mind. 

Caesar nodded, looking back at her and staring pointedly at her bandaged arm. “Well, that makes sense.” He turned his head to once again look at Sinclar. “I’m surprised at you, Six, didn’t remove any fingers this time around? I don’t have to worry about you going  _ soft  _ on me, do I?” His tone seemed to be only half joking, his eyebrow perking in question. 

Sinclair responded in an unthinkable way—with a laugh. Nevertheless, his head still seemed intact through the next couple of seconds. “I didn’t think the Praetor ‘ere would want his new cocksleeve missin’ any bits so I just carved her up a bit.” He jerked his thumb toward her, crossing his arms. 

Evidently, Caesar was going more insane by the minute as he actually  _ smiled _ at such flagrant insubordination, looking back to her. “Fine. Lucius, get her the fuck out of here and don’t let this happen again, got it?”

The Praetor nodded and stepped forward, collecting Elizabeth and guiding her out of the tent. In silence the two walked back to his tent, the hateful shouting of the soldiers replaced by respectful silence. The hierarchy became increasingly clear to her and the rules of it even more so. In the face of their superiors, the soldiers were respectful, understanding that insulting an officer’s wife was a grave offense, but outside of his presence, they were free to do as they wished, and she feared that didn’t stop at words.

Her thoughts were silenced as they stepped into the tent and Lucius turned to her, motioning to the ground in front of him. “Kneel.”

Elizabeth glanced at the ground and then to Lucius. It was only then that she realized she stood almost a head taller than him, and likely possessed more physical strength than him as well, were his arms anything to go by. A cruel twist of fate, she thought, as she obeyed and knelt before him. 

Although she expected him to remove his skirt and order her to work, he simply took to his chair and crossed his legs, staring at her for a moment before speaking. “I allowed you to sleep late this morning because of your wounds, do not expect such courtesies in the future.” He leaned forward, resting his arms on his knee. “You know how to address me.” He seemed to be thinking of what else to tell, a moment of silence falling before he spoke again, “Your duties as an officer’s wife are different to a normal slave’s, but don’t think that affords you any additional rights. You will be punished severely if you disobey me or any other officers. If another soldier violates you without my explicit permission, report it to me and I will ensure he is punished,” Liza suppressed a fearful gasp at his matter-of-fact tone, though was unable to keep it down at his next words, “I will issue written permission if I do authorize it. If you are presented with this permission, you are to treat him as you would me.”

A silence fell between the two before Elizabeth raised her head. “I… can I speak, sir?” Her voice was uncertain, though she found herself falling back on her old boot camp honorifics. They seemed to be doing the trick so far. As Lucius nodded she continued, “Will you… how often…” She shifted uncomfortably, casting her eyes to the ground. The very idea of having to ask the question pained her deeply and she found herself blinking tears away once again.

The man’s facade cracked for a moment, though she only barely caught it and even then didn’t quite register it. He spoke after a momentary pause, “Occasionally, though I have far more important things to do than violate a slave. Perhaps if I am stressed I will require your mouth but no else. The others may request you, though, and for that I would not be able to help.”

His ‘reassurances’ were hardly enough to keep her from shivering as subtly as she could, though it didn’t seem to be enough to keep him from noticing. “Have you ever pleased a man before, slave?” His question rang in her ears as she swallowed heavily. 

“Yes, sir, but only once.” She smoothed out the front of her dress, regretting her honesty almost immediately. Indeed, what she feared would happen did as she heard a buckle jingling across from her. 

“Then I must ensure you are satisfactory before i am in real need of you. Come here.”

Elizabeth shut her eyes and tried to still her trembling. 

As the phantom of the previous night’s pain came back, she could only obey.


	6. Broken

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Writing this has really brought down my general mood for the night but I can't stop. I hope you enjoy. Well... as much as you can enjoy this.

Elizabeth sat there on her knees, obeying the gentle instruction of the man above her. Her mouth tasted sour and she felt the prickle of acid in the back of her throat. It was all she could do to avoid visibly shivering as she serviced him. She felt her mind racing at a million miles a minute, trying to find something, anything to distract herself.

To an outsider, it might seem as if she were doing this of her own free will. There was no guiding hand on her head, no gun to the back of her head, no rutting or shouting, but as her throat closed in fear and her gut twisted, she knew there was little she wouldn’t do to get out of this situation with her dignity intact.

Ever since she woke up the previous morning, bandaged and dehydrated, she feared just this moment when she would be expected to comprimise herself. She’d hoped beyond all hope that she would have time to adjust to the idea, but the groans and murmurs of pleasure above her brought her back to the reality unfailingly. 

Her jaw had begun to burn by the time he finally finished, spilling ove rher tongue. Although she’d tasted worse, she couldn’t help but gag, forcibly recoiling and forcing herself to swallow heavily, quivering as she fought to keep the vomit down. By the time it was over, she was on the verge of tears once again, shivering uncontrollably. 

“Good. We will continue to train you. I must return to Caesar. You will prepare a meal and tidy my tent by the time I return at the end of the day.” Lucius tucked himself into his pteruges and stood, unceremoniously walking out and leaving her behind. 

As soon as she was certain she was alone, Elizabeth felt the contents of her stomach rising and she vomited, unable to muster much other than a slightly milky water. She remained on her knees, unable to stop herself from emptying everything before she fell onto her side. Everything that was expected of a Ranger, her training and her will, seemed to dissipate in that moment as she toppled onto her side and hugged her knees to her chest, screwing her eyes shut and sobbing openly. 

Although she wasn’t certain how long she’d been there, the sun had begun setting by the time she found the strength to stand, mustering up everything she could to take to her feet. The tent was, gracefully, rather tidy already, meaning she needed only clean up her mess and cook a passable meal. 

Hugging her arms to her chest, she stepped out of the tent, keeping her head held low. Luckily, it seemed the novelty of mocking her had died down, and many of the soldiers she passed were content simply to leave her be, though perhaps it was her appearance of a simple battered slave that kept their attention from her—a small mercy, but a mercy nonetheless.

She arrived at Siri’s tent and spared a passing glance at the woman who’d saved her the night prior, concealing her reddened eyes as well as she could. “I—I need,” She cleared her throat as her voice cracked, trying to once again affect strength, “I need, a…” Once again she paused as she began to think back to California, furrowing her brow. The two stood in silence for a moment before she spoke again, “Two carrots, a cut of brahmin meat, a tato, and a prickly pear fruit.” She glanced up to Siri, “For my... “ Her mouth twitched and Siri nodded, “He wishes for me to cook.”

The slave nodded and stepped into the tent. Above the camp’s din, rummaging could be heard before she returned with the requested ingredients in a small basket. Liza thanked her quickly as she took the food and returned to the tent once again.

She piled up a small amount of wood in the stove and stuffed in a bundle of kindling, lighting the fire and preparing the pan and ingredients. As the fire crackled, the torture at the hands of Six rushed back to her and she gripped the edge of the table, closing her eyes and taking a deep breath.

For nearly a minute she calmed herself, clearing her throat and wiping her raw eyes. She laid the brahmin meat in the pan and listened to it sizzle for a moment, her back going rigid out of pure instinct. Before she could convince herself the beating was worth avoiding this meal, she went back to work, searing the meat on both sides before she squeezed over a small amount of the fruit’s juice, soaking the meat with it and pulling it out onto a plate. From there she chopped up the vegetables and dotted the plate with them, making certain to soak them in the meat’s juices for a moment. Once she was as satisfied as she could be, she left it on the table and promptly returned to her bedroll, curling up once again with her back to the tent.

Several minutes passed and she began drifting off to sleep before movement behind her roused her. The familiar footsteps told her Lucius had returned, but she made no effort to turn over and look at him. He paused in front of the table, silence hanging over the tent for a moment before he spoke, “Very good, girl. I have brought a meal for you.” Something impacted the dirt near her and she rolled over, taking stock of what had been given.

It seemed that she had been given two rather large strips of heavily salted meat, along with a decent-sized bottle of rebottled water, no doubt irradiated by the looks of it. Nonetheless, she reached for them, the hunger winning out her disgust. “Thank you, master.” Her voice was quiet and timid as she unwrapped the meat and bit into it. Indeed, it was rather tough and the salt helped little with the dehydration, but it was more than she’d had the day past, so she gladly ate, washing it down with the gritty water. 

Across from her, the Praetor seemed to be enjoying his meal, though his face gave away little in indication. The two ate in silence for a long time before he spoke up. “Tell me of you, girl.” He spoke his words, not as an order, but as a request. 

Liza paused for a moment. “What do you want to know, master?”

He scratched his beard in thought before he spoke again, “Your name, who you were before this.”

She played with the rope around her waist, leaning on the foot of the bed next to her. “My name is Elizabeth Lee, I was an NCR Ranger. You… the Legion… I was a part of the raiding party who attacked the Fort.” She couldn’t help but feel the tears for the umpteenth time at the thought of those who had been lost in the failed raid.

“I thought you looked familiar. I was the one who retrieved you.” He stated matter-of-factly, “Decimus wanted to keep you as his own, as I recall.” He set down his fork, turning to face Liza. “He was killed by Sinclar when he tried to violate you as well.” 

Elizabeth nodded slightly, “I did not know that was him.” She suppressed a more joyful response at the news.

“What else? Before the attack?” He prompted, folding his hands in front of him. 

“I…” She paused for a moment, shifting uncomfortably, “I was born in New Reno. I joined the NCR to get away from that and I’m here now.” Her answer was sufficiently barebones and it was obvious to the both of them that she was hiding something, though he didn’t press the subject. 

An uneasy silence hung between the two for a moment before he spoke again, “I…” He rubbed the back of his neck, “I need you to understand that what I did today was expected of a Legion officer.” Her look gave him pause before he continued, “Maybe I didn’t say that right. Caesar has eyes and ears everywhere, even inside his camp and  _ especially _ on his officers. If I didn’t… I would have been suspect.” 

Elizabeth looked to the ground, clearing her throat and setting aside the empty bottle. “I need to sleep, if you don’t have anything else for me, master.” 

Lucius sighed and shook his head, standing and returning to his desk. “I will clear the table tonight.” He paused, “Goodnight Elizabeth.”

She squeezed her eyes shut and laid back on the bedroll. The tears began to fall and didn’t stop until she had tired herself out.


End file.
